


The Dragon's Tale

by Joanne_Lupin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-23
Updated: 2011-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-20 18:09:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joanne_Lupin/pseuds/Joanne_Lupin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco has loved Hermione since first year... He just wasn't able to show it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Second Year

**Author's Note:**

> I'd suggest reading this with the full work on one page. Most of the chapters are actually really short.

Like the other Slytherins, Draco was straining to get a peek into the Hospital Wing. However, unlike the other Slytherins, he actually cared about who might be in there. They were there out of curiosity. He was there out of anxiety.

Potter and Weasley were in there. That wasn't a good sign. Draco tried to convince himself of possible alternatives. Maybe this time, the Heir of Slytherin had chosen a blood-traitor, instead of a Mudblood. Maybe the teachers were questioning Potter- after all, they did suspect him. Any explanation except the one he so dreaded was the truth…

"All right, OUT!" Madame Pomfrey shouted, shooing the students away. The Slytherins scattered. Draco grabbed Crabbe and Goyle's sleeves and led them off to a nook near the entrance of the Hospital Wing where they could wait. Eventually, Potter and Weasley appeared in the hall, their faces grim.

"So, Potter," Draco droned, feigning an air of nonchalance, "who's the unlucky Mudblood this time?"

Potter looked up at him with tortured eyes. From just that gaze, Draco could tell what he was going to say without him even having to say it.  
His heart dropped. It took all Draco had to plaster a sneer on his face.

"Finally got what she deserved, filthy Mu-" Draco couldn't even finish. Weasley had leapt, barely restrained by Potter. Draco skittered backwards.

"Crabbe, Goyle, let's go!" he shouted, his voice breaking. He wasn't going to be able to keep up the façade much longer. He flew down the corridor, Crabbe and Goyle tailing behind.

Later that night, Draco crept into the Hospital Wing, cautiously peeking around every corner to make sure he wasn't spotted.

No one could know he was there. Not even the person he was there to see. If word got to his father that he was in love with a Muggle-born… well, he couldn't even begin to think what would happen.

Making sure there was no sign of Madame Pomfrey, Draco tiptoed silently to the side of her bed.

He took her hand- it was stiff and cool, and hard as stone- and pressed his lips against it.

"I'm really sorry. About all those things I called you. I don't really think you're a-a Mudblood. I think you're smart. And pretty. And nice."

Draco thought about all those times he watched her laughing from his place with the Slytherins. Fear coursed through him. Would he ever hear her laugh again? Ever see the light in her eyes when she answered a question from a teacher? Ever see her bite her lip and brush her hair back with the top of her quill as she was concentrating in class?

This was all his fault. Draco knew it. If he'd just left her alone, she'd be okay. Somehow, in that twisted logic one only uses when a loved one is in danger, that made perfect sense.

Draco sighed, gasping as the breath hitched up in his throat, and began to cry. He pressed he pressed his face into the stone cold hand and wept, moaning one name over and over again: "Hermione… Hermione… Hermione…"


	2. Third Year

Draco may have taken it a little too far this time. But he couldn't help it! His hatred for that wild, dangerous hippogriff (he hated it even more for making him look stupid in front of the one girl he absolutely had to impress) was perfect fodder for his taunting. He didn't care how much dislike he was inciting, as long as he could see the fire in Hermione's eyes. She was pretty when she was mad.

Caught up in Hermione's intensity, Draco didn't notice the fist coming his way until it was too late. The force knocked him off his feet, a cruel echo of the way he'd first felt when he saw the girl who was now punching him in the face. But he could barely feel the pain. Hermione was shining- and not like that Hufflepuff sixth year. She was just… radiant. Though her face was full of shock, her eyes and her stance exuded strength. Draco liked this. So much, in fact, that he didn't even notice the blood spurting out of his nose and on to his shirt.


	3. Fourth Year

Draco was hiding. He was hiding from his date. He was hiding from Hermione's date. Most of all, he was hiding from Hermione.

He'd known going into the Yule Ball that she'd be harder to resist. That she'd be especially breathtaking. How could she not be? But when she'd walked in, it had taken all of Draco's energy to stay rooted to the spot, to not go running up to her and spill his secret.

She'd walked in alone, which had only drawn even more attention to her. She'd been blushing furiously, staring at her feet as she made her way down the staircase. All the same, she'd been wearing a broad smile, and her eyes had welled up slightly. When she'd entered the crowd, she'd ducked her head and squeezed her shoulders, as if she was avoiding a particularly low bit of ceiling. She'd glanced at Weasley, who'd been gaping as though she'd come in wearing a marshmallow, and had given her arm to the Durmstrang Champion.

Draco ran for it.

At first he'd been hiding because he'd been crying. It wasn't fair! If it wasn't for his father's hatred of Muggle-borns, Draco would have been able to tell Hermione how he felt the first time they'd met. But Draco was trapped, terrified that if he showed her the smallest bit of affection, he'd tip his hand.

Now, however, he was hiding so he wouldn't get another look at Hermione. He could just imagine her beaming face, and see her hair falling out of her meticulous updo. And for now, imagining was almost too much.

Then again, it was never really enough, either…


	4. Fifth Year

Under unspoken orders from his father, Draco joined the Inquisitorial Squad. He liked the part where they tried to get Potter and Weasley into trouble, but that bit was overshadowed heavily by his concern for Hermione. He knew what Umbridge was capable of. As much as Draco wanted to help Hermione, he was afraid Umbridge's favorite weapon, Veritaserum, wasn't reserved for only her enemies.

Professor Snape seemed to have picked up on Draco's anxiety, because he called the boy into his office for a talk.

"Is something upsetting you, Draco? Are you in danger?" asked Professor Snape from across his desk.

Draco looked away. Yes, something was upsetting him. But it would upset his father even more if he found out. On the other hand…  
The truth was threatening to burst out of him at any minute. What with his worrying, his lack of sleep, and the fact that the secret had been kept for so long, he was afraid he might let down his guard. And if he even stared at her for a minute too long, the truth might come out, becoming mist in the air and expanding into every nook and cranny, eventually finding his father. Surely if he told one person- just one- then a bit of the burden would be taken off his shoulders.

He looked up at the teacher with pleading eyes and asked, "If I told you, promise you wouldn't tell anyone?"

"Not a soul."

Draco took a deep breath, then said, "I think I'm falling in love…"

"Oh?" Professor Snape said, confused.

Then Draco murmured, "…with Hermione Granger."

Comprehension dawned on Snape, and his eyes went dark. He leaned over the desk, speaking with great urgency.

"Draco, you must listen to me. You need to tell her. Soon. And don't taunt her anymore. Don't make her angry at you- angrier than she must be already. And never- do you hear me? NEVER- call her a Mudblood. Do you understand?"

Draco understood. He understood that if he did these things, his father might go so far as to disown him!

"What do you know about what I'm going through right now? What could you possibly know?" he challenged.

Professor Snape sighed heavily. He just sat there, staring into nothing. That didn't help Draco at all! If anything, it made him feel even worse.

"Thanks a lot," he hissed. Then he picked up his books and left.

That night, Marietta Edgecombe told Umbridge some valuable information.


	5. Sixth Year

Draco was stalling. He was waiting for someone- anyone- to catch him. He couldn't do it. He couldn't kill Dumbledore. Because if he was the one to kill Dumbledore, Hermione would hate him. She wouldn't just dislike him. She would _hate_ him. She'd want _him_ dead. And Draco couldn't let that happen.

Draco's heart soared when he heard footsteps climbing the stairs. Maybe it was McGonagall. Or Flitwick. Or Filch. Maybe it was Hermione.

It wasn't.

Of anyone it could have been, why did it have to be _them_? He couldn't stall in front of Death Eaters. They'd know.

Just as Draco was beginning to lose hope, another set of feet pounded up the staircase. He turned to look.

Professor Snape!

He knew! He could help! He'd understand! Draco silently beseeched him.

"Severus… Please…"

" _Avada Kedavera_."


	6. Epilogue

People say that when they look back on their life, they hope they have no regrets. If that was how you measured a life, then Draco's was terrible. He regretted becoming a Death Eater. He regretted not telling his father to bugger off. Most of all, he regretted not taking Professor Snape's advice so long ago. Draco now wondered what made the Potions Master say those things. Maybe, wherever he was going, Draco could find out. And he knew he was going. He could feel the life draining out of him. His relatives were at his bedside, keeping watch. His wife was sobbing.

Draco had married Astoria to appease his father. He was getting old, and ill, and Draco wanted to make sure he was happy.

Two days after his marriage, Lucius died.

Two days after that, Draco heard of Hermione's engagement to Ron Weasley.

Draco could never figure out why he hadn't gone to her. Maybe he'd lost hope. Maybe he'd grown attached to Astoria. Or maybe he'd realized by then that if you truly love someone, all you really want is for them to be happy.

Draco looked back on his life and regretted. He regretted every time he uttered the word "Mudblood." He regretted the timed when he'd angered Hermione just so he could see the fire in her eyes. He regretted, above all else, not telling her the secret he'd kept so long.  
As Draco's life ebbed away, so did the bars on the cage where his secret was kept. With all his strength, he said the words he wanted the world to know:

"I… love… Hermione…"

And with those words, the dragon breathed his last.


End file.
